Even the Wingless

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  Sleep ambushed the Queen on the window, and she woke cramped and cold near dawn with the distant ground far too close to her clumsy body for comfort. Grasping the sill to keep herself from pitching forward, she found her eyes focused, for once, on the earth below the tower; strangely, she'd never noticed it, the ragged teeth of the cliffs, spattered with the strange colors of what she guessed were mosses: shiny dark purple, a frosted green, the straw yellow of fine wine. The cliffs themselves were red with a lacy edge of white where they met the waters.

  And the sea... how could she have never noticed the ocean? Blinking past the crust in her eyes, she began to trace the variations in the waves, the swollen crests, the shifting colors.

  Always, she'd assumed that beauty belonged to the skies she could not touch. But suddenly the Slave Queen wondered what the ocean would feel like, if she were to let it touch her feet... splash her legs.

  She shook her head and clambered off the windowsill. Such alien thoughts belonged to Khaska and the other Alliance citizens. Her place was in the tower, hanging between ground and sky and able to touch neither.

  Lisinthir ate on the way to the harem the following morning, still distracted by fragments of vivid dreams he couldn't quite recall. He didn't remember finishing the energy bar, but by the time he'd gotten halfway up the tower it was gone and his body was complaining of aches other than hunger. Apparently the rigorous exercise he'd thought he'd undertaken daily at home didn't compare to regular stair-climbing on this level. He stopped to sit on one of the steps and rest. Someone had designed the staircases for this purpose, unless he missed his guess—the stairwells were broad and tall, almost like halls, and the steps were shallow.

  He should have woken up completely before leaving. He no longer resided in a place kind enough to ignore him while he gained his bearings. Lisinthir focused on the mosaics on the walls, tracing the sinuous lines of fighting drakes with glinting white teeth.

  Footsteps announced the guard before he came into view beneath Lisinthir. The male stopped, spear braced in one hand.

  "You are well?"

  "Yes," Lisinthir said. "Merely contemplating the loveliness of your art."

  The guard stared at him.

  Lisinthir waved at the mosaic. "A fascinating technique, no longer used on my world. It has a quaint charm."

  The guard moved on. Lisinthir listened as the footsteps receded. He'd noted the guards out of the corner of his eye, but now he put himself to the task of remembering their patrol patterns. There were guards posted at the harem arches, but more of them seemed to rove up and down the tower. How many? When did they switch shifts? Did the same guard walk from tower's top to bottom, or were they assigned to certain flights?

  Someone had informed them rapidly of Lisinthir's dispensation to visit the harem. Did that same someone give permission to the Slave Queen and Laniis to go up and down the tower's length so long as they did not leave?

  How quickly would the guards die if the cargo-men had to kill them to get the slaves out?

  His muscles had progressed past relaxation to cramping on the cold step. Lisinthir rose and resumed his trek. When he reached the tower's pinnacle he did not spot the Slave Queen... but Laniis was awake, and even better, gently drawing Bethsaida from the closet with a loose, long rope of translucent silk.

  "My lady!" Lisinthir said, reverting to his native tongue. "You wake!"

  She looked at him and gasped, backing away. Laniis glanced from her to the Ambassador, then interposed herself between them. Hastily, the Seersa said, "My lord Nase Galare, your lady is inappropriately dressed to receive you."

  "You jest," Lisinthir said in Universal. "She lives, she is on her feet and she worries about being naked?"

  "She is still an Eldritch, my lord," the Seersa said in the same tongue. "She has so little dignity left."

  Lisinthir looked away, wondering if his cheeks had colored. It was wholly inappropriate for him to feel anger at the heir for fixating on such a relatively trivial thing when she had come so close to death. His only concern had been for her welfare, not for her dishabille.

  "Lend her your coat," Laniis said.

  "I suspect that will only put her—and myself—in danger," Lisinthir said. "There is a hard road between here and freedom. She must task herself to walking it with us if she wants release."

  Bethsaida peered from behind the Seersa, arms crossed over her breasts and a fearful expression on her delicate face. "What do you say to her?" the heir asked, her words black with abject terror. "Speak words I understand."

  "I say to her that you will have to be stronger if you want to survive our attempt to liberate you, Princess," Lisinthir said. "Crueler eyes than mine are evaluating your naked body. Ignore them."

  "I do not mind the cruel eyes as much as I mind the eyes of an Eldritch and a vassal," she said with a shiver. "Do you not remember our customs?"

  He had to search his memory to guess what she alluded to... surely she didn't mean the fairy tale stories about men being honor-bound to wed the women they espied undressed? "Those are stories, lady."

  "Stories have truth in them," she said.

  "Do not fear," he said. "I have no plans to marry you. Nor, I assure you, am I even thinking lascivious thoughts."

  She stared at him with round eyes, and her trembling lower lip wasn't enough warning for the sudden sobs that choked her. "No man will want me now that I have been foully used!"

  Lisinthir lifted a hand and let it drop to his side. He could not touch her to comfort her... and in truth, he didn't know what to say. Their queen had never married and seemed no poorer for it. And as the heir, Bethsaida would have no lack of suitors, even if she had been compromised... which Lisinthir didn't think she had been. Not that way, at least.

  "Ah, so she is awake enough to cry," the Slave Queen said from the arch to the bathing chambers, the sibilance of Chatcaavan surprising after the liquid length of the Eldritch tongue. "Perhaps that is a good sign. Laniis, tell her to make less noise while weeping or she will attract unwanted attention."

  "Now?" Lisinthir asked. "Are people so close?"

  "If there is anyone in the lower harem, the sound will carry through the windows," the Slave Queen said. The Chatcaavan turned, clasping her elbows and studying the cowering Eldritch woman. Beside Bethsaida, the Queen was a model of composure... built perhaps from years of resignation rather than true peace, but still self-contained. Her lack of clothing seemed more nudity than nakedness—or perhaps he should be honest and admit that he couldn't quite decide how to react to her exposed chest when it was masculine in its flatness, but feminine in how she held herself. The lacy wings, the long limbs, the arched neck... all graceful beneath the pressure of the harem.

  And across from her, Bethsaida, limbs akimbo and tears streaking her alabaster face.

  "Better," the Slave Queen said, having distracted the girl into quiet. She turned to Lisinthir. "You return again."

  "The guards," Lisinthir said. "What do you know of their patterns?"

  The Queen tucked her head back, eyes widening. Surprise? Disquiet? Curiosity? He found the males far easier to guess at than the females, with their demure masks. "I... had not thought to look, Ambassador."

  "Yet they did not stop you when you went to examine the dungeon," he continued.

  "No," the Queen said. "This is my tower, I suppose. Insomuch as anything can be mine."

  "We could test," Laniis said. "I could try walking down to the dungeon alone to see if they stop me."

  "Why would you do that?" the Slave Queen asked.

  "Because you sent me?" Laniis said. "Surely they will not care more than that. And if they do... " The Seersa shrugged. "What can they do to me that they have not already done?"

  Lisinthir felt a chill through him at the words. "It is a risk, but a necessary one," he said. "If you are willing, do it."

  Laniis nodded.

  "So your plan is...?" the Queen asked.

  "To have Laniis lead the slaves to the
dungeon for apparent safe-keeping during the presentation. To have the cargo-men who are delivering my chest to do so, and on their way back down stop by the dungeon, release the prisoners and smuggle them out with them." Lisinthir shrugged—an Eldritch shrug, a bare hitch of one shoulder. "It is only the draft of a plan, but there are parts of it I will not know."

  "You expect cargo-men to succeed in extricating the Emperor's newest toys from the harem tower?" the Slave Queen asked him, pupils swelling to fat ovals.

  "They will not be mere cargo-men, I assure you," Lisinthir said. "Just as Laniis is no mere translator."

  The Slave Queen glanced sharply at Laniis, who looked away.

  "All these secrets," the Slave Queen said, then twisted her hand to-and-fro. "Keep them. The less I know, the less I will be punished." She turned her back on them, wings tapping together at the base, and climbed onto the window.

  Lisinthir turned from her to Laniis and switched to Universal. "I hesitate to ask anything of you, lady. It has been a long time since you've been Fleet."

  The Seersa's ears sealed back against her hair and her eyes grew anguished so quickly he regretted the words. "I tried to stay Fleet. By the Speaker-Singer, Lord Nase Galare, I tried in the beginning. But there was no way out, and they—gave me reason to fear trying again."

  He shook his head. "I did not mean to insinuate anything, lady. You could not have done it alone. Not even the most impressive of agents could have done it alone." His glance lit on Bethsaida, who had used the narrow translucent scarf to cover herself as best she could. "And you did the job you were sent to do. You were to investigate a possible smuggling... and here you are in time to help me fix it. You placed yourself well."

  Laniis grimaced. "My lord, you give me too much credit. I have spent most of this year on my stomach being raped and beaten and trying not to lose my sanity, not planning to undermine the Empire from within."

  "Nevertheless," Lisinthir said, holding her gaze and letting the words gather the weight they needed to calm her, "I cannot do this without you."

  She nodded. "Then I will make my trek to the tower's base and tell you what I observe, my lord."

  "Thank you."

  She drew in a long breath. "Get me out of this hell, my lord. That will be thanks enough."

  "I will," Lisinthir said.

  When he returned to his rooms, he needed a hot bath to convince his lower body not to disown him. Had all the previous ambassadors been forced to walk up and down the towers? None of them had mentioned such severe exercise to him...

  ...perhaps they had never been invited to the tops of the palace.

  The hot water soothed his joints. By the time he pulled himself from the pool he was ready for the imposition that awaited him in the study, the one he almost missed on the journey from the bathroom to the bedroom wardrobe. Slowing, he turned his head and found a stranger standing next to his desk, examining its contents.

  Tucking his bathrobe around himself, Lisinthir said, "Whoever you are, you were apparently not important enough to be informed that I am only available when the red scarf flies from the perch. You intrude. Be gone."

  "I am Third's Hand," the male said. "I have come to introduce myself as commanded by the Emperor."

  "Third's Hand? What, are you an extension of his body?" Lisinthir asked, leaning on the door jamb.

  "Yes," the Hand said. "I do his work. You will speak with me on matters of trade."

  "I was under the impression that trade was Third's bailiwick," Lisinthir said. "Unless something unfortunate has befallen him, I will be speaking to him about trade."

  The male stared at him, unblinking. "Former ambassadors have spoken with me."

  "But Third is the Emperor's chosen in this matter," Lisinthir said.

  "Yes," the Hand replied. "But I am an extension of Third."

  "I don't speak to lackeys. Particularly lackeys who break into my study when I have made it obvious I am not receiving and rifle through my desk while they impose. Get out of here, Body-part."

  Hand's teeth flared, white against dark brown lips. "I speak for Third."

  "And I speak for the Alliance when I say you're not good enough to speak for Third. Third will speak for himself, or I will take it up with Second—or the Emperor. Don't make me ask you to leave again."

  The Hand's tail whipped from one side to the other... then he backed toward the balcony.

  "Tell your master not to insult me again," Lisinthir said, turning away.

  "No male is my master!" the Hand cried and dove for him. Startled, Lisinthir leaped out of the way and slammed the bedroom door on the Hand's face. As claws scrabbled on stone tiles outside, Lisinthir lunged for the sword on his chest and flung the sheath off its blade, whirling just in time to face the Hand as the Chatcaavan skidded in through the bathroom door. The Hand's gaze darted to the sword, then back to Lisinthir's face.

  "Don't make me scar you," Lisinthir said. "You might have more weapons than I do, but my reach is longer."

  The Hand stepped back once, hissing.

  "Leave," Lisinthir said, letting shock transform into anger. "And don't step foot in my chambers again."

  The Hand said, "I am no male's slave."

  "Leave," Lisinthir said, and this time the Hand's gaze wavered. The male withdrew. Lisinthir followed him through the bathroom, into the adjoining study and all the way to the balcony. It wasn't until the male vaulted into the sky and vanished into the deepening cloud cover that he began to shake.

  Lisinthir dropped into the chair behind his desk, slumping. His stomach had tightened unto cramping, his shoulders were not much better and the taste of bile burned the back of his throat. Would the Hand have killed him? Would the Chatcaava have excused him for reacting to what had been—to the Chatcaava, at least—a mortal insult?

  His data tablet chose that moment to chirp. Lisinthir rose on trembling legs and staggered into the bedroom to answer.

  /Two days/, were the first words that appeared, cautiously shaded silver for optimism.

  Lisinthir forced himself to steady his hands before writing, /I believe I can manage two days. And I have developed a plan./

  /Speak, far-cousin, please./

  Lisinthir described the plan as it existed and added, /I am abetted by a vixen lost by her superiors. Soot points on argent./

  /Hold a moment.... I am told that this is welcome news, far-cousin. This snow-ember had been given up for dead. If you have her at your side the chances of success are greater./

  /We shall need every helpmeet we might gather/, Lisinthir wrote.

  /Far-cousin, I have packed your chest. It contains all that an Eldritch would be expected to have. But be assured that I know that you are more than this./

  "More than this," was shaded unexpectedly in Shadowed mode—something that would normally indicate sarcasm or doubt. /I look forward to the chest's contents/, Lisinthir said. /I will unpack it swiftly, since it will indubitably be searched after our deception is uncovered. And please, do not ask again if I am certain about staying, far-cousin. Even across space I can see the question forming at your finger-tips./

  /Very well. We trust you, far-cousin. In two days, expect your cargo./

  /I look forward to it./

  That evening, Laniis darted up the stairs. "Mistress, they are coming, and the Ambassador has not sent word! It is not yet time!"

  The Slave Queen rose, struggling with sudden fear. "We must delay them."

  "How?"

  "I don't know—" the Slave Queen said and choked off the rest of her words as Third appeared at the top of the landing with his Hand and two guards.

  How she hated Third, with his waxy yellow-gray scales and his small, scheming eyes. Everything about him screamed his low upbringing. He'd been born to a noble family from some other world, a son of kings, and still he managed to give off the air that he hadn't a solid bone in his body. His Hand was not much better—and from the clench of that male's jaw, the Hand was in even worse a mood than Third.
>
  "Where is the furless white slave?" Third said. She heard the hunger in his voice. "The Emperor sends for her... for a personal interview. She is due for evaluation and discipline."

  "She is indisposed," the Slave Queen said, stepping in front of them. "Her discipline will have to wait until she is better."

  "Oh, yes, indisposed," Third said. He caught her jaw in his fingers and squeezed the joint until it sent a warning pang down her neck. "That's what they all say when they'd prefer not to service their betters. You, furry slave. Go fetch her. I don't care how indisposed she is."

  When Laniis didn't move, Third scowled. "Are you deaf, creature? GO." He waved his Hand forward without releasing the Slave Queen. "Attend her, Hand, since she is obviously dumb."

  "Aye, greatness," the Hand said with a grin similar to his master's. The Slave Queen's mind raced, but she could think of no way to stop Third.

  "We have not had much time together lately, slave," Third said contemplatively while digging his claws into her flesh, just beneath her eye. "I have missed you. I have had cause lately to realize that there are few people who handle pain well, and each is to be treasured."

  The Slave Queen quailed at the greed in his regard. The Emperor had infrequently given her to Third, but even once was too much. The last time... she shuddered beneath his grip, despairing at the pleasure her fear evoked in Third.

  But then some part of her remembered the absolute stillness of the Ambassador, even under duress... how he had faced the sight of the Eldritch female in chains without revealing the depth of his worry. She tasked herself to the same control and suppressed fierce triumph when Third began to scowl. He pressed his talons deeper against her cheek, inspiring a bead of blood. She continued to hold her mask in place, felt claw-tip dig into her flesh until her eye began to blink of its own accord. And still she resisted, and wondered if she would lose her eye to Third's sadism.

  A crash sounded from the other room. Third's hand flew from her face to her neck. Hauling the Slave Queen behind him, he stormed into the bathing chamber and found Laniis, his Hand and the Eldritch girl struggling on the ground. Elbows and knees flashed, and the sharp smacks of palm against flesh filled the room.